Aegon's life changed on his thirteenth nameday.
It had been a harsh, relentless wind at first, hammering in from the East. Gusts of wind had scattered leaves about Dragonstone, and the great volcano that sat in dominion over the island had seen the all-too-familiar wisps of smoke forced toward Westeros and its kings. The Stone Drum had only intensified its symphonies as the day wore on, while the rain lashed relentlessly across Blackwater Bay. Sea salt had been omnipresent that day, mixing with the sights and sounds of the feast thrown in his honour and banishing the smoke of the castle's hearths. Outside, one could only see the legions of raindrops and flashes of lightning coursing across the sky.
The storm had only worsened as the evening wore on, thundering and crashing about Dragonstone as night claimed the island. Only the lightning had challenged it, briefly casting light across the skies when all torches and lanterns had failed. Huddled within their homes and around their hearths, nobody on Dragonstone had seen the Storm's gift to Aegon. None had watched as it struck Dragonstone, scattering it's cargo across the waters and beaches of the windswept rock.
Aegon had been roused late the next morning. In truth he'd spent too much time in the histories the night before, unable to sleep until the storm wore itself down with the candles. Blearly eyed and still gripped by sleep, it had taken the maester several gentle shakes until he'd come to his senses and been eased from sleep into the morning light. Aegon had found himself staggering awake and dressed himself, eventually finding his stomach in control. The previous night's feast had been great, temperance had forced Aegon to eat only his fill. Thus, hunger took over and lead his feet to the great hall.
Amidst servants clearing the last of the breakfast and rearranging tables, Aegon had wolfed down a breakfast of bacon and cheese without much thought, eager to learn where all the guards, and chiefly, his father, were. It wasn't until the training yard that Aegon learnt what had happened. Between strikes of swords and beads of sweat, Orys Baratheon had hammered Aegon's skull with both his sword and the morning's events while his younger sister Visenya had watched, between her nose buried in books or covered with a helm of her own.
A vessel, the Tempest Defiant, had found itself wracked by the tides and winds. With no control over his ship, the captain had perished as his ship smashed herself upon the rocks of Dragonstone's northeastern flank. Aegon's older sister Rhaenys had found the wreck on her morning flight, Meraxes skimming low over the waves with casks of Volantene wine and barrels of apples floating among the rocks and flotsam of the devastated vessel. Her wrecking had been a painful one that saw the vessel turned into little more than firewood while her crew had joined the ship in death. Bodies had decorated Dragonstone's rocks and beaches alongside the cargo they'd stewarded, flung upon the island like unwanted toys. Many of the trader's crew had been slaves, now granted the freedom of death as an end to the unfortunate lives they'd toiled in.
Yet that had been of only passing concern. The guards had found the wreck with no difficulty, and even some poor souls that had survived. Some had been slaves now without a master, others the guards that had held them in captivity for so long, their whips now lost to the sea and live spared by the exhaustion of those they'd lashed. Some had been found crouched upon rocks, great gashes torn in their bodies and filled with saltwater, while others had forgotten their previous standings and banded together, climbing Dragonstone's bleak rocks to higher ground, wishing only to escape the will of the storm.
The survivors that still had strength to speak had given fragments of the same story. It was this that had caused Dragonstone's men at arms to disappear, many sent across the island and into the Dragonmont. Early in the ship's wrecking, a slave boy had been thrown from the vessel. Others had seen him in the sea, and climbing the black rocks of Dragonstone amidst the crashing of waves and flashes of lightning. Another had seen his body later, sheltered by rocks that clutched at the sides of the Dragonmont. Other slaves had agreed on the sight, able to guide Dragonstone's men to the same spot.
Only footprints remained, alongside the squashed stems of grass where the lad had sheltered. A smear of burgundy where he'd clutched to the rock with a bloodied hand, and a few wisps of long, silver-gold hair. They boy had joined the ship's slaves in Volantis, shoved onto the vessel and beaten with rods in an attempt by the bosun to curb his defiance. He'd been the only addition to the crew there, regularly beaten and harried by the crew. Somehow, he'd remained defiant to boot, despite being only ten. In Volantis, the child had been in training for fighting pits, so the story went. The owner had fallen on hard times and sold the boy at a far higher price than he was worth, on account of his violet eyes.
Aegon had understood then. The boy had climbed the bleak slopes and probably taken shelter in one of the Dragonmont's many caves and channels. It hadn't taken Aegon long to saddle his horse and ride out across Dragonstone, climbing the volcano at the heart of the isle. When the gradient had gotten too steep and the horse had begun to struggle, Aegon hitched the beast to a nearby tree and slipped into one of the mist-wreathed caves, guided by the light spilling from a lantern he'd brought with him.
It hadn't taken him long to find another search party, nor Rhaenys. At five and ten, she had led her own party into the volcano's caves and begun to comb the intricate maze of passages and caves for the intruder. Until sundown, the parties had avoided waking the dragons. Meraxes and Balerion had riders, so both Aegon and Rhaenys had agreed they'd be undisturbed by a mere boy, particularly his father's dragon. The siblings had explored Vhagar's lair first, careful to leave their party behind. The she-dragon had slept soundly, undisturbed even as Aegon and Rhaenys had tiptoed around her.
That had left only one option, unless the boy had done them all a courtesy and fallen to his death somewhere. Hot air had washed over Aegon as he'd clambered through the caves of the dragonmont, his tunic drenching with sweat even as chills ran down his back. Obaraxes had not taken a rider since the Targaryens had fled Valyria, her silver scales stained with the blood of those foolish enough to try time and time again.
As Aegon slipped into the back of her lair, he swallowed his nervousness and attempted to steel himself. The cave she'd taken over was long and wide, linked to the outside by a natural passageway large enough for several knights to ride abreast. Boulders and rocks clustered the opening, with a single hole in the ceiling allowing the dim light of the setting sun to creep in, casting rays across the cavern. Men never visited this cave, kept away in fear of the dragon's reprisal and tales of her nature. Even Balerion, her mate, had only appeared within the cave sparingly. It was easy to understand why, for Obaraxes' eggs had never hatched.
Aegon spied the massive leviathan off to the side, her silver scales rippling with each breath and casting the sunlight across the chamber. Wings the colour of sapphires were tucked into her sides neatly, while a colossal tail stretched out across the cavern floor. But it was what Aegon spied underneath the Dragon's wings that caused his mouth to turn dry in an instant. Curled up between the Dragon's wing and the warmth of her belly was a boy with broken manacles around his feet. His hair was the same as Aegon's, and his sister's too: pale silver and gold. The dragon opened one massive, deep blue eye, and tucked her wing around the child before her heavy eyelid fell shut.